


Don't Go Into The Woods

by mckendie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (like Kuguri's mom dies and its mentioned but thats it), Baba Yaga - Freeform, Bokuto is a Doll, Kuguri is Very Tired, Kuroo and Ushijima are there but thats just implied, Minor Character Death, Slavic Folklore, like an actual literal doll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 02:07:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10584180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mckendie/pseuds/mckendie
Summary: Kuguri didn’t particularly need to follow his step-sister’s orders to venture into the woods but he did so anyways, not finding much use in telling them no. He probably should have stayed home.





	

Kuguri stood at the edge of the woods with only a small sack of food and the wooden doll his mother gave him before she died. Both items where light in his palms, but carried a decisive weight.  
  
It was unlikely he would be exiting the woods anytime soon.  
  
When he stepped under the first of the thick trees it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness, squinting to watch for any roots he might trip on. The briars reaching up from the ground grabbed at his bare ankles, drawing pinpricks of blood to the surface. In the corner of his eye he saw a flash of red fur and beady eyes.  
  
He walked for a long time, his mind mulling over how he was going to obtain a light. There was only one choice for it in those specific woods, and Kuguri wasn’t particularly motivated to take on that route immediately, not with a witch waiting on the other end.  
  
So he just kept walking.  
  
As he did so the sun set and, on the tails of the fading beams of light, a black horse galloped by him. It’s thundering footsteps shaking Kuguri to the core and the sheer proximity knocking him backwards to his butt. It’s rider didn’t even cast a look back, and as they vanished in the hazy edges of Kuguri’s vision, the final rays of light disappeared.  
  
Kuguri stopped his wandering when night fell, and he still had food left. He pulled out a small chunk of bread and cheese and set it aside before pulling his wooden doll into his lap.  
  
He regarded it with a critical eye before sighing and smoothed a hand over its feathered hair. He had owned the doll for years, but it had no traces of wear, only a slight nick on its cheek from a farming accident, when his step-sisters first moved in.  
  
He owed the doll his life; he owed his mother his life.  
  
In the back of his head, Kuguri could hear the broken cry of his childhood home’s domovoi, he could remember Kyoutani, his mother’s dola, curled at the foot of the bed, whimpering. He could smell the vomit staining the sheets.  
  
Hazily, he could see the domovoi’s figure standing over his mother, blocking his view of her face. Then he turned, so, so slowly, eyes downcast and shadow cast across his face. Thin hands extended towards him, cradling the doll.

Kuguri flinched away, “Why didn’t you protect her? It’s your job, you’re supposed to keep us safe. This is your home, Hanamaki, she was always kind to you.”

Hanamaki ignored him and grabbed Kuguri’s hand, holding the doll to it.  
  
“Keep it close,” the domovoi insisted, “feed it and help will come.”  
  
Kuguri had been too heartbroken and young to question him.  
  
“Bokuto?” he whispered into the dark, squinting to see the doll in the moon’s light. With no response Kuguri picked up the cheese and pressed it to the doll’s hand.  
  
It took a minute, but slowly the doll began to move, raising its hand to its mouth. Kuguri waited.  
  
As soon as the chunk of cheese had disappeared behind his lips Bokuto sprang to life, a boundless ball of pure energy.  
  
His wooden features softened, the dark brown lacquer fading into faintly tanned skin, colorless eyes turning gold, and his hair softened into gelled white and grey streaks. He stood no taller than Kuguri’s knee, but he was still a welcoming presence in the near blackness of the night.  
  
When the wood of his knees finally changed into simple, human flesh he wrapped his arms around Kuguri’s neck, fussing with his bedhead. “Kuguri!” he called, hanging on tight and pushing off Kuguri’s thighs with his small feet, trying to hug him at a better angle.  
  
It didn’t work very well, and Bokuto slid off his lap and into the mud.  
  
Once Bokuto had stilled he leaned against his knee and Kuguri gave him a small smile. “Do you think you can help me through this part of the woods, while it’s still dark?”  
  
As soon as he heard help, Bokuto was on his feet, pointing a thumb towards himself. “Of course! I’ll lead the way!”  
  
Then he marched off, weaving between trees at an easy pace. Kuguri hauled himself to his feet and followed, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders against the cold.  
  
The moon rose higher in the sky, reaching its peak and beginning its descent before Bokuto slowed. “Do you have anymore food?” He asked, glancing at Kuguri over his shoulder.  
  
Kuguri shrugged, “Only what I need for breakfast.”  
  
Bokuto stared for a second longer before he continued walking. He was a wooden figure again before he had taken seven steps.  
  
With a sigh, Kuguri scooped him into his palm and slipped him into the simple cloth bag on his back. With no light and no one to guide him, Kuguri sat and waited, his mind adrift in memories.  


Thoughts of his mother, blurred and muddled with time and pain, played through his head. He could remember sitting at the table across from her, peeling back potato skins with a sharp knife. His hand had slipped, pressing the knife into the palm of his hand and drawing blood. The sharp pain had surprised him, and he had flinched and knocked the bowl of potato skins off the table, blood dripping after them.

Immediately, his mother was there, one hand pressing a towel firmly to the wound and the other gently pushing his hair from his teary eyes.

Her smile had been soft and small as she coaxed him out of his crying. His father had mentioned how much the smile was like Kuguri’s own through teary eyes one day.

Kuguri couldn’t really remember how true that was.

While lost in thought, Kuguri had lost track of time, completely missing as the moon fell from the sky, and the thundering of hooves echoed through the forest once more. He only drew his head up when a throat was cleared before him.

There was a man on a crystalline white horse, both of which had steely eyes and grey tipped hair. His clothes were simple and pale, and, behind him, light rose on the horizon.

“The witch’s home lies ahead,” the rider paused, “if you are still sure about finding it.”

They did not wait for a reply, just shooting off towards the west, chasing where the moon had just set.

Kuguri watched for a moment, hair sliding slightly into his face before he shoved his supplies into his bag. All it took to fix the strands blocking his vision was a quick run of his hand through his hair.

He followed the hoof prints of the white horse, slowly weaving between the trees and bushes before he could hear the sound of hoofbeats again, coming from far behind him.

He moved to the side, staring through the soft light of dawn at a red figure approaching. He sat tall on his horse, which was a flaming red that matched his hair.

His eyes were wide and fiery in their sockets. His skin was pale and, behind him, the sun peaked over the horizon, blazingly bright against the sky. The rider drew to a stop, leading his horse to trot a loose circle around Kuguri. As he made his first pass he leaned down, elbow resting on his thigh while he held onto the horse with only one hand. “Hello,” he drawled, his voice saccharine sweet, “Semi’s leading you to the Baba Yaga, I’d assume.”

****

Kuguri nodded, flinching away from both the horse and the rider’s blazing heat.  
  
“Well, princess, hate to break it to you, but you’re kind of gonna die,” his gaze darkened with the word, the heat growing before lightening to the same warmth of a pleasant summer day, “but if you really want to, I’ll walk with you.”  
  
Kuguri stared for a moment longer before nodding stiffly, leaning to the right to avoid the horse’s tail when he flicked it in irritation.  
  
“Why are you looking for the old crone anyways?” The rider asked, staring down at Kuguri. Kuguri shrugged and reached a hand into the pack, rubbing a hand over Bokuto quickly to ensure he hadn’t fallen out.  
  
The wooden statue was as still as ever.  
  
The rider continued chatting despite Kuguri’s lack of response. The sun rose as they walked, slowly inching across the sky.  As the sun dipped closer to the horizon the rider squinted, leaning forward on his horse with a hand resting on its neck for balance.  
  
“We’re almost there,” he finally decided, leaning back to sit normally in his saddle.  
  
Once the sun finally hit the horizon, the rider sped up, racing towards a small clearing ahead of them. It was dark and the shadows of the trees hid everything in it but as soon as the horse galloped across the tree line, the noise of its hooves faded, along with the last of the sunlight.  
  
He sighed, and continued towards the clearing. He walked, between sun’s set and the night’s fall, for a few strange moments before reaching the edge of the clearing. Just as he moved to step out of the trees, thundering footsteps echoed from behind him, dreadfully close.  
  
Kuguri froze, and could only watch as a black mare soared over his head, the only part of its rider he could see through the blackness of night being the dark soles of their shoes. The horse never landed, just disappeared in mid air, while suspended above Kuguri.  
  
For a minute he didn’t move, shocked still on the edge of the clearing. When he managed to turn his head, glancing back at the clearing, he was met with a blazing fence of bone.  
  
There were skulls stationed across the haphazardly designed fence, the femur and rib bones glaring white in the fire spilling from the skulls’ eyes. Beyond them was a shack, perched on two huge chicken legs. It looked dilapidated, old and uncared for, with windows grey from grime, and wooden boards swinging freely from where they had once been attached to the wall.  
  
Kuguri sat down and waited.

The woods were still dark and the wind was howling through the brittle trees when Kuguri woke up. For a few long moments he couldn’t tell why he was up, until the grating sound of stone on stone and a dull thunk, followed by the splintering of trees, echoed through the clearing.

He slowly pushed himself to his feet, watching where the sound had come from. The noise repeated and something soared over the trees, crashing to the ground in front of the bone fence.

The ground shook and Kuguri stumbled, reaching a hand out to steady himself against the tree.

The shadow of the figure was tall and looming as it stepped out of a tall mortar with the pestle still in their hand. They drew their long, thin legs from under their chin and straightened, standing easily twice as tall as Kuguri.

They moved to swing the bone gate open but stopped, turning quickly to stare at Kuguri. Only one of their glowing eyes was visible, the other covered by matted black hair.

It leaned closer, inspecting Kuguri, before raising a thick, ugly eyebrow. “Well,” the witch drawled, “What do we have here? Did you come looking for me, or did you just stumble upon this clearing?”

Kuguri regarded the witch for a second before sighing. “My name is Kuguri, and yes, I have come looking for you.”

“Oh, is that so?” The Baba Yaga inquired, leaning impossibly closer, their foul breath fanning over Kuguri’s face, “Did you come here of your own will, or were you sent?”

“I was sent, by my stepmother and sisters, to get light from you.”

The Baba Yaga nodded humming, gently tapping their chin. “What to do, what to do with you, Kuguri,” the witch squinted at him a moment before snapping. “You’ll work for me, three nights and three days. If you fail, I eat you, if not, you get light. How’s that sound?” The witch’s smile was downright devilish.

Kuguri shrugged. “Fine by me.”

“Brilliant,” the Baba Yaga smirked, shoving the fence open and dragging themselves through it, long fingers just barely brushing the ground as they gestured grandly to welcome Kuguri inside.

The hut, though decrepit on the outside, was decent inside, if you ignored the mess.

As the Baba Yaga stowed the mortar and pestle in the corner, they commanded, “Get the food from the oven, I’m starving.”

Kuguri nodded and walked to the back of the room, where the oven was stationed by a grimy window. He pulled out the food and almost stumbled under the weight. There was enough there to feed twelve men.

The food, excluding a bread crust and some leftover fat, was gone in minutes, the Baba Yaga shoveling it into their mouth like the world was ending. Once they had finished, they wiped at their face, glaring hard at Kuguri.

“Tomorrow, you must clean the house from top to bottom, weed the yard, and cook for me. Then take the wheat from my storehouse and pick all the bad grains out of it. Do not forget even one grain or I will eat you.” 

Kuguri nodded, the same indifferent expression not moving from his face.

With another glare the Baba Yaga turned on their heel and walked to the stove, curling up upon it and promptly falling asleep.

He didn’t move until the moon hit its peak, its light barely filtering through an unpatched portion of roof, just to be sure the witch was asleep. When he was sure they were, he pulled Bokuto from his bag and knelt in front of the table where the bread crust sat discarded. He picked it up carefully, casting a look towards the Baba Yaga, before pressing it into Bokuto’s hand.

Sweat dripped down his back, mostly due to the heat of the stove but partially from the ominous pressure of the shack, as Bokuto stirred. It took a while for his joints to gain any sort of flexibility, but when they did he sprung up and at Kuguri, grabbing at his shirt to keep himself from toppling.

Almost immediately the room felt a little lighter, even with the Baba Yaga snoring in the background.

“Kuguri!” Bokuto cheered.

Kuguri laughed and leaned down, only letting the tiniest of grins to escape his lips. “Shush, we can’t wake the witch.”

Bokuto squinted over his shoulder before his eyes widened and he nodded furiously. “What do you want me to do?” he whispered, careful of his volume.

“Would you mind cleaning, weeding, and sorting through the wheat for me?”

Bokuto nodded enthusiastically, beaming. “Of course! Just leave it to me!” Bokuto pointed a thumb towards himself before bolting outside to weed. Kuguri sighed and closed his eyes, ready to sleep.

He could faintly hear Bokuto outside, singing silly tunes as he worked within the fence, which brought a smile to Kuguri’s face, as the memories of long summer days under lonely trees watching Bokuto work the fields returned with nostalgia.

Kuguri didn’t dream that night.

When he woke up, the Baba Yaga was gone, the shack was cleaned immaculately, and Bokuto was sorting through the last of the wheat, eyebrows furrowed as if the grain had somehow challenged him.

“Thank you, Bokuto,” Kuguri nodded to the doll as he stood, turning to look around the room, “It looks wonderful.” 

Bokuto smiled up from his bowls of grain, eyes not leaving the wheat for even a moment. 

By the time the Baba Yaga got home Kuguri had cooked and Bokuto had been inside his bag for a few hours, just a simple doll again. They walked in, the sky behind them crackling with a storm, lightning flashing down just as the door slammed shut. They stopped and stared at the room. Their face was unreadable, as grotesque as it was, but they quickly cleared their voice and schooled their expression back into a thing of nightmares.

Kuguri stared, unimpressed.

“I was looking forward to eating you,” the Baba Yaga spoke, “but it seems that’ll have to wait for tomorrow.” They shrugged and walked towards the wheat, long legs creaking. “Come my faithful servants! My friends, Terushima, Daishou, and grind the wheat,” They roared, eyes alight with flame.

Immediately two shadowy figures appeared, both smirking devilishly and standing tall, leaning against each other back to back. The one on the right, with slicked down hair and a glint in his eye sauntered over to the Baba Yaga, ignoring the grain. “Been a while, witchy, what’s up?”

The witch growled, low in their throat, “Work Daishou, or I might replace you and Terushima with Koshchey’s Miyas.”

Daishou stuck out his tongue just as the other figure, with an undercut and wide eyes made a gagging sound before laughing when Daishou joined him in grinding the wheat. He spared a glance to the Baba Yaga, winking, “Like you’d ever actually get rid of us. I can see Tendou, Semi or Ushijima getting sacked, but us?” He barked out a laugh.

The Baba Yaga didn’t reply but seemed irritated when they turned their glare to Kuguri. “Tomorrow, you will do the same thing, as well as cleaning every poppy seed in my stores one by one. Koshchey decided to play a prank on me, yet again.”

Kuguri nodded, watching warily as the Baba Yaga sat down to eat.

He brushed his thumb gently over where Bokuto rested in his bag, immobile but still a comforting presence. With him, Kuguri was sure this job would pass, just as everything had with Bokuto’s help.  



End file.
